


Sever

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles can't forgive, and Erik won't come back.  And yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sever

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ DOFP Kink Meme. Prompt: _so i've seen plenty of fix-it and reconciliation prompts, and they're awesome, BUT i also really want to see another take where Charles isn't ready to forgive Erik and Erik clearly doesn't intend on coming back to the peaceful fold... but they're still head over heels in love with each other anyways._
> 
>  
> 
> _i'd love to see something with them together and being intimate, *somehow*, even if it's through mind stuff, over pining from afar._

Charles thinks _I could forgive him. I could._

Rain pours, of course, and he sits at the window and watches for – what? For Erik to come back? For the sun to suddenly appear over the horizon, bright and shining? For things to change and for Raven to come home and for his legs to work?

He bites his lip and curses at that last one – how selfish. He’s alive and functioning and he has his power back – he shouldn’t be so internally absorbed. But.

_My power comes from here – comes from –_

_and it’s broken._

Erik had broken him. This was Erik’s fault. All of it. Charles could forgive him, but then things still wouldn’t be right, and he’d still be angry and alone and without someone to blame. And gods, but that would be just awful and then he’d have to be okay with being self sufficient and _alone_ and he rolls away from the window, ashamed of the feelings he’s having and he stops at his desk, the thought that he needs a drink pounding through his skull, the bits of RFK stadium falling around his memory, Erik letting them fall, Erik letting him get shot, Erik leaving him on the beach, Erik making Charles lo-

He bypasses the cut glass tumbler and drinks straight from the bottle of twenty year old scotch, the notion that he’s angry, so angry not born from a rational place and he raises his fingers and his power flicks _on_ without a thought and he’s in a small room, somewhere else, dingy, tiny, filled with – 

It’s been a few days and Erik is swaying from exhaustion, but he can’t sleep. Not yet. There’s too much work to be done, and in the wake of what had just happened, his conviction is even stronger.

He’d dropped the stadium on Charles.

He shakes his head and focuses on the task at hand, figuring out a safe haven for himself and what’s left of his brotherhood – but that’s something that will change. He will add to it. Raven might not be there with him, but things will be the way he wants them to be. He’s right about this. Hadn’t Charles even admitted to it?

_You must think me so foolish._

“They will wipe us out.”

The words ricochet around in his head and he blinks – his eyes seem to move independently of each other – and suddenly the overwhelming feeling of intoxication makes him bend over and retch –

_Charles is touching him, touching his face, his hands on Erik’s throat, in his hair, his shoulders, stripping the shirt from him, fingers mapping the scars that live at the base of his neck, on his arms, his pectorals. Big blue eyes, stealing the breath from him, red lips that are hungry and wet and on his before he can move and it’s as though Charles is melding with him, hot thighs pressing his, arousals brushing together –_

_They’re bare and skin to skin and there’s not enough time, not enough touch, not enough Charles and Erik is thrusting up into him, breathing in Charles, the other man tasting like expensive drink and Erik and he can’t stand it and bites his lip as he comes inside Charles, much faster than he’d have liked to, his hands gripping Charles’ biceps, both of them panting, Charles moaning his name, eyes wide and white and focused only on Erik and_

Erik’s _not_ drunk, he’s fine and suddenly his mind is empty and he bends over and throws up, then, with the loss of the sensory touch that wasn’t his idea – he’d never – but Charles – Jesus.

He’s not drunk and his eyes tear from exhaustion and sudden, unwanted loneliness and he stays hunched over, a moment of weakness, a loss so profound he can’t name it, the moon fat and laughing at him from its spot in the sky, the window of the cheap motel he’s hiding in open to let out the must in the room. 

“Charles,” he sighs, his breath foul and his face cracked and sore, and he sits up at last, knowing his path is right and true and yet.

Charles – 

“Erik,” Charles can’t help but let out. He’s shaking and his cock is painful and throbbing and he drinks more of the scotch and lets his brain loose to do what it can do, finding Erik again with ease, but this time – he can’t force his way in, even though he wants to. He drinks more. He raises a shaking hand to his temple and thinks to _shove_ but

_No._

That snaps him back to his own mind and he stops, his hand lowering, trembling still, the rain pouring outside the window of the mansion. He can feel Hank in the rooms below, still worried about him, and Charles is suddenly _oh god_ hyper aware of what just happened.

 _I’m – I’m sorry_ he thinks, without meaning to. He’s not sorry. He’s Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr has done nothing but hurt him, hurt him and try to take everything from him that he’s ever deemed important. Even the tiny bit of love between them.

Nothing. Then

 _I’m not_. Emotionless and quiet, it’s Erik that says it, even though Charles had hoped he wouldn’t.

Charles laughs and reseals the bottle he’s been drinking from. The laughter is acrid and bitter in his mouth and he closes his eyes, rolling away from the desk without looking, the slam of the mental bars between himself and Erik almost louder than the beating of his heart. The mansion is still his home despite it being just him and Hank now, but – 

He can’t forgive Erik. Not right now. No matter that he loves and wants him still.

That’s almost worse than being alone. Almost.

He could say goodbye to Erik again, mean it this time, really mean it. He should. It would be final and be what he needs and what’s right for the both of them, truth be told. Charles knows that it’s the right thing to do.

He stops the chair at the windowsill and raises his hand, ready to sever the connection permanently, the better thing for them, the right way, something he knows he needs to do.

Rain falls, and his hand stays at his temple, almost touching, not quite, fingers shaking only minutely. Not touching. He holds his fingers right next to his temple, just a millimeter, so close, almost there, just do it, end it.

It rains, and he stays his hand, unwilling.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m not._

His eyes slip closed and he touches his temple, as gently as the rain that soaks the Westchester ground.


End file.
